The group of students made their way toward the Outer Arena, their conversations and murmurs blending with the rhythmic clack of boots on the paved path. The sky was clear, and a light breeze carried the faint scent of metal and earth—the peculiar perfume of the training fields.
Indra walked in silence, trailing slightly behind the lively banter between Reid and Claire. The gentle warmth of the sun contrasted with the sudden chill that ran down his spine.
…Hm?
He stopped for a moment, the hairs on his neck standing on end. The sensation was sharp and primal—an instinctive awareness that someone was watching him.
Slowly, Indra turned his head.
That's when he saw her.
Aurora Bianchi walked a few meters behind, surrounded by other heirs of the Nine Great Clans. Yet her gaze was fixed on no one but him. Her golden eyes glimmered hypnotically under the sunlight, as if they caught and reflected every ray. Her stare wasn't hostile, but it carried weight—something between ambition and calculated interest. Like a predator studying new prey… or a hunter evaluating a potential ally.
Indra couldn't tell which.
For a brief moment, the world seemed to fall silent, as if that locked gaze had isolated the two of them inside an invisible bubble.
I don't want trouble.
Breaking eye contact, Indra turned forward again, adjusting his pace to keep alongside Reid and Claire. Whatever Aurora had in mind, he had no interest in finding out just yet.
---
The path opened ahead, revealing the Outer Arena—a vast circular field encircled by high walls and ornate stonework, with stands already packed with students and instructors. At its center lay a compact blend of sand and rock fragments, built to withstand brutal impacts.
Professor Aurelia was already waiting for them.
Clad in her traditional black tunic trimmed with gold, she stood like a beacon of authority. Her golden eyes—colder and more analytical than Aurora's—swept over the class, pausing briefly on Indra.
She approached, her measured steps echoing on the stone.
"Indra." she said, without preamble. "Before any duel, you must choose a weapon."
Indra's brow rose slightly.
"A weapon?"
She didn't answer right away. Instead, she lifted her right hand, and with a smooth gesture, a Dimensional Ring shimmered into existence on her finger. A soft glow rippled across the metal before she tapped the air before her.
With a sudden flash, a long table materialized, as if woven out of light itself. Resting atop it was an array of weapons—each one more striking than the last.
There were long and short swords, spears, halberds, double-bladed axes, daggers, staves, bows, war hammers, and even more exotic arms like chains and clawed gauntlets. Each weapon bore flawless craftsmanship and the faint gleam of enchantment—proof of magical quality.
Aurelia folded her arms.
"All forged by the Esoteric Academy's master workshop. Balanced weapons—not so advanced as to mask the true skill of the wielder." Her tone was dry but faintly challenging. "Choose one that suits your style."
Indra stood still for a few seconds, scanning the array of steel before him.
His first thought was simple: pick a sword.
He'd practiced fencing in the Mortal Plane, comfortable with straight, balanced blades.
But as he looked closer, he realized "sword" here was a far broader concept than he was used to.
Broad-bladed longswords. Elegant, needle-thin rapiers. Curved sabers with a deadly draw cut. Even hybrid weapons whose shapes defied conventional categories. Some were heavy enough to crush armor; others so light they seemed forged from air itself.
His brows knit. The question was no longer whether to choose a sword—but which sword to choose.
That's when a recent memory surfaced.
A late afternoon on Sophie's balcony, bathed in the glow of the Icy Moon. Her calm voice, carrying the weight of an old proverb:
> "It's not you who chooses the weapon, Indra… it's the weapon that chooses you."
At the time, he'd smirked, dismissing it as poetic flair from the Other Side.
But now, standing before a table of steel and magic, those words felt… different.
He drew a slow breath.
Maybe it was about energy. Resonance. Something beyond mere ergonomics or training.
He decided to try.
Closing his eyes, he let his Qi flow—not to fight, not to defend, but simply to sense. Like releasing the reins and letting the current guide him.
His fingers moved on their own, drifting over ornate guards, short and long blades, leather-bound hilts, and silk-wrapped grips. The background noise—the shuffling feet, murmurs, and breaths of his classmates—faded away. There was only the feeling of wading through a river, the current nudging him toward one point.
And then, he stopped.
Indra opened his eyes.
Before him lay a slender, double-edged straight sword. Its long, elegant hilt was wrapped in black silk with discreet gold accents, the simple guard shaped like minimalist petals.
A Jian.
An involuntary smile tugged at his lips.
Not just because he recognized it—
But because of what it meant.
In the Mortal Plane, he'd read dozens—maybe hundreds—of Xianxia novels, where the Jian was almost a symbol. The weapon of lone wanderers, dueling under the moon, standing against the world with nothing but their sword and their will.
This blade was a bridge between the fantasies he'd once read and the reality he now lived.
He wrapped his fingers around the hilt.
The weight was perfect—not so heavy as to cost speed, not so light as to lose impact. The balance felt tailor-made, as if the metal had been forged to answer only his touch.
"This is the one." he murmured to himself.
Aurelia, watching with the focus of someone gauging a crucial moment, tilted her head.
"Are you certain of your choice?" she asked, her voice neutral but her gaze intent.
Indra met her eyes, a faint—almost defiant—smile on his lips.
"Without a doubt."
For a heartbeat, something flickered in her eyes—approval, perhaps, or curiosity at how far the "Mortal Realm human" might go with such a weapon.
He stepped back, giving the Jian a light spin. The blade cut a clean arc through the air, the sound of the slice as soft and sharp as a whispering wind.
And deep down, Indra felt Sophie had been right. He hadn't chosen the Jian. The Jian had chosen him.
---
The air in the Outer Arena felt heavier now, as if every grain of dust carried anticipation.
Students gathered around the combat area, some settling into the stands, others standing with arms crossed, watching intently.
In the center, Indra adjusted his new Jian, feeling its comfortable weight. The blade caught the glow of the magical torches surrounding the field. He tried to look relaxed, but his heartbeat was quick.
Professor Aurelia stepped forward, her voice ringing clear:
"First match of the day: Indra versus Marcus Halberd, heir of the Halberd Clan."
A ripple of murmurs passed through the crowd.
Marcus was well-known—a low-ranked Graduate, but with an impressive record of sparring victories. And a Magic Warrior—his Magic Power manifested as a dark-blue energy that radiated brute strength and endurance.
Marcus entered the arena with steady, confident steps, resting his longsword on his shoulder. His smirk was half-friendly, half-arrogant.
"So you're the so-called 'human prodigy' everyone's talking about?" he said, looking Indra up and down. "Hope you last more than two minutes, kid. I don't want this to be just a warm-up."
Indra twirled the Jian and gave a small, crooked smile.
"Relax… two minutes is more than enough for me to drop you."
A few students chuckled. Others leaned forward, sensing sparks about to fly.
Aurelia raised her hand.
"Begin."
Marcus moved first. One step forward, the metallic whistle of his blade slicing the air—and then the dark-blue glow of Magic Power flaring around it like a solid flame.
"Let's see if you can block this!" he shouted, charging.
Indra reacted instantly, raising the Jian to parry the first sweeping cut. The impact reverberated through his entire arm—Marcus was stronger, no question. But Indra used the momentum to pivot, attempting a quick counterstrike toward the man's flank.
The blow nearly landed, but Marcus caught it on the flat of his blade, shoving him back.
"Heh… fast, but weak as hell." Marcus taunted, pressing forward.
The fight became a blur.
Marcus swung in wide arcs, using the reach and weight of his longsword. Each strike flared with blue light, generating pressure waves in the air.
Indra answered with agility—tight dodges, swift parries, and precise cuts.
Sometimes, the Jian clashed against the other blade with a brittle ring, as if it might shatter. Other times, Indra's strikes scraped against Marcus's light armor—enough to mark it, but not to wound.
"Damn, kid… you're getting on my nerves," Marcus growled, stepping back to measure distance.
Indra smirked, sweat starting to bead on his forehead.
"Guess I'm not just here to be a punching bag."
"Then take this, smart guy."
Marcus funneled his Magic Power into his next strike, the blue glow condensing at the tip. He spun in a circular motion, and when he swung, it felt as though the cut carried an invisible shockwave.
Indra brought up the Jian to block, but the impact was brutal—forcing him to slide nearly two meters back, leaving grooves in the arena floor.
He knew he couldn't win through strength.
So he gambled on speed.
Closing in with quick, short steps, he alternated high and low strikes, forcing Marcus to adjust his guard. For a moment, the tide seemed to turn—a diagonal cut nearly caught the unprotected shoulder, leaving a scratch on the light armor.
"Close, kid… but 'close' doesn't win fights." Marcus said, blocking again.
In a sudden twist, he rotated his wrist and unleashed a powerful horizontal slash.
Indra tried to parry, but the force broke his stance. Marcus seized the opening, slamming a kick into his stomach and sending him staggering back.
Air burst from Indra's lungs in a pained grunt as he fell to one knee, the Jian's tip resting against the ground.
Aurelia raised her hand.
"Winner: Marcus Halberd."
The crowd erupted in mixed murmurs—some impressed with Indra's performance, others noting he was still too green to take on a Graduate.
Marcus lowered his sword and stepped forward, offering a hand.
"Not bad, human. For someone who just Awakened, you're above average. But… you've got a long road ahead."
Indra took the hand, rising with a tired grin.
"Yeah… I'll remember that when it's my turn to drop you."
Marcus chuckled and walked away, while Indra left the arena under the watch of many students—some surprised, others curious.
Even in defeat, he knew: this was only the beginning.